


St. Michael's Oath

by ATwistOfLemonLyman



Series: The Gods Have Conspired [3]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Catholic Characters, Gen, I suggest reading the previous story in the series but this can still be read on its own, Implied/Referenced Suicide, McGarry Family, Original Characters - Freeform, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24081961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATwistOfLemonLyman/pseuds/ATwistOfLemonLyman
Summary: "[H]e died from it. Came home late one night very drunk, my mother was yelling at him. Not sure about what, but I heard the yelling downstairs from my bedroom. She came upstairs and he [...] shot himself in the head." -Take Out the Trash DayChicago 1951.Leo desperately wishes his brother would come back.
Series: The Gods Have Conspired [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/606481
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	St. Michael's Oath

_“O Michael of the Angels_

_and the righteousness in heaven,_

_Shield thou my soul_

_With the shade of thy sword._

_[...]_

_Protect and encircle_

_My soul ‘neath thy wing,_

_O my soul with the shade of thy wing.”_

-

**_1951_ **

**_Chicago, IL_ **

-

Leo was about to crawl into bed when the shouting started. There was nothing new about this, this was what his parents did- more often now that his mother had started pushing back against his father’s aggression. His mother’s behavior was a drastic change from what it had been before, he’d gotten used to seeing her take most of his father’s abuse before finally fighting back half-heartedly, if at all. But there was something about this particular fight that seemed different. He couldn’t make out the words that were being said but he noticed that his mother was doing most of the yelling and it sounded angrier than anything he’d heard before. It almost sounded like his mother was the one that had instigated the argument...

-

Somehow Rose had found it in herself to fight back in the years since her eldest son had left home and this time she found herself on the offense instead of having to defend herself from Frank’s harsh words. She couldn’t stop yelling, shouting that she couldn’t take it anymore, that she couldn’t have him put the children through his drunken behavior. He hadn’t been aggressive with their youngest children the way he had been with Michael but she knew that he sometimes frightened Josie and she was terrified that Leo would look upon his father as an example of how men should behave. And Birdie, poor Birdie who was the eldest child of the house now that Michael was away at school, didn’t need the responsibility of helping Rose deal with the consequences of his drunkenness, having to sober him up and cleaning up after him when he’d knock things over or leave a trail of bottles.

“You’re going to drive them all away, just like you drove Michael away! I’m going to lose my babies because you just won’t stop this!” she shouted, her voice approaching something of a wail as her emotions had their way with her vocal cords. 

Hearing his eldest son’s name filled Frank with absolute rage. That boy, that damn boy; the reason he was shackled to Rose, the reason why he had spent years lying to himself about being content with a life he’d never wanted.

Michael was still very much alive but he still haunted Frank like a specter. Frank’s very own chain-rattling Jacob Marley, but punished not for his own misdeeds but for Frank’s and keen on revenge, not redemption. 

“ _You’re_ the prick that made promises you never meant to keep, _you’re_ the prick that knocked her up,” he heard Michael whisper in his ear.

And he _remembered,_ he remembered Rose, the good Catholic girl, so sweet and always so proper but far too in love with Frank for her own good, feeling so uncertain that first time. What does it matter, we’re going to get married anyway, no one needs to know, he’d insisted and she’d finally agreed. Only, he’d had no intention tying himself down but weeks later there was irrefutable evidence of what had happened between them and who else could be responsible if not Frank McGarry? An immaculate conception was more likely than Rose having been with anyone other than Frank and the whole parish knew it.

Frank wanted to slap Rose for bringing up the little shit that had ruined his life but Michael was still there, louder and angrier this time.

“If I ever find out that you’ve laid a hand on any of them I’ll come back and I’ll fucking kill you,” the disembodied voice of Michael echoing his warning from years ago.

Those were words he had never been able to shake, words that had left him so rattled that he hadn’t even bothered to wonder how Michael would make good on his promise when he’d be living hundreds of miles away, with no way of knowing what state his mother and younger siblings could possibly be in. 

Frank clenched his fists in order to avoid striking Rose. He’d hit Michael countless times but he’d only ever hit Rose once; the unfortunate boy had been indirectly responsible for that too. But in his drunken and agitated state Frank was convinced that the act of hitting his wife would summon Michael. The boy would make good on his promise and appear like an avenging angel in the same bright glory of the angels and saints that he saw illuminated by sunlight piercing through their stained glass forms when he attended mass. 

Picturing his son appearing in such awesome splendor only rankled him further. Frank told himself wasn’t afraid of dying (that would surely be his end if there were ever to be a confrontation between estranged father and son) but of the humiliation of being struck down by the brat he used to shove around on top of the embarrassment of Rose having grown a backbone and no longer playing the role of submissive wife since their eldest had been driven away. 

Rose’s voice pierced through his thoughts. 

“Do you hear me, Frank? I’m sick of this!”

He could hear her, but it didn’t matter, none of it mattered. Frank had already made up his mind and it had nothing to do with reforming the way Rose wanted him to. 

Rose saw something in his glassy eyes that told her it would be pointless to continue arguing with her husband. A tired sigh escaped from her mouth and she turned to leave. 

“The boy won’t kill me, and she won’t humiliate me, I’ll make sure of that,” Frank thought to himself as he watched his wife make her way back upstairs. 

-

Moments after Leo had finally drifted to sleep he was startled awake by the sound of a gunshot. He was too dazed to move until he heard his mother’s screams. Leo struggled to extricate himself from his sheets and when he made it to the stairs he found Birdie blocking his path. 

“Don’t- don’t go down there, Leo,” she said, her voice thick and heavy with emotion. 

The confusion and fear he felt emanating from her was contagious, Leo felt his lip begin to tremble and he wished more fervently than ever before that Mike would come back and stay for good. Mike will know what to do, Mike will make it all better, he chanted to himself as he felt his sister pull him away.

Please come back, he begged as Birdie’s hand trembled in his own

Please come back, he begged as they stood before Josie, lying that everything would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for any grammatical errors etc, I'm already having a rough time writing so editing is even more beyond me than usual.


End file.
